Some Self Analysis

`You don't know me.' `Nobody understands me.' These are eternal complaints of the angsty, the ever-present focus on what is different between any two individuals. Sure, people can have different hair color, eye color, skin color. Yes, there are very different facial structures and body types. And absolutely there are different personalities. Differences so severe as night and day. A story I remember from high school social studies, meant to be inspirational, was the story of the two sisters: one was always happy and the other always miserable. As a bit of a social experiment, the parents gave gifts to the two daughters. The miserable one got a brand new car. She complained it wasn't good enough. Not fast enough, not expensive enough, and of course the radio wasn't loud enough. The happy one got a pile of horseshit loaded into her bedroom, on top of all her stuff. Her response? ``With all this horse shit, there's got to be a horse in here somewhere!'' Now of course this story isn't real. And even if it were, the happy girl was sure to have a downer when she finally learned that her parents suck. The point is that the personalities are real; there are people whose baseline level of happiness is simply higher than others. Other facets such as extroversion (which shows up on personality tests) and the kind of thing that catches one's eye (which doesn't) vary wildly as well. My assumption would be that even in all of mankind, there are no two individuals who have identical personalities, but you know what they say about assuming. The question, then, is what is my personality? Who am I?I'll start with the very lowest point there is to make about myself. I have no goals. I have no aspirations. I don't want to be a millionaire, I don't want to drive a fabulous car. I don't want to be the envy of all who see me. I make this point a lot. When I'm feeling down, I think `I had a goal in high school; I wanted to be valedictorian.' I wanted to be valedictorian and I wanted even the path it took to get there: the lonely path of the nerd. But, even back in high school, trouble was brewing in this aspect. At the beginning of every semester/year -- whenever new classes started -- the students were asked to fill out little index cards for their teachers. These had information like `name', `parents' names', `emergency contact phone number', et cetera. It was also common, however, for the teachers to prompt `goals for this class', `goals for school', and `goals for life'. The first two were easy. I wanted an A in the class, and I wanted to be valedictorian. The last one would always defeat me. And so now, after I have completed all goals that I have set for myself, I commonly feel that I am drifting. I've been cast into some current and it is dragging me along. Or, I was skating on ice with great momentum, but slipped and fell on my ass. Now I'm sliding along without any drive of my own, still going in the same direction as I was in high school.

So where do I build from there? The great thing about starting with my lowest views about myself is that the only direction to go is up. I think I'll start with pointing out that the previous paragraph is a blatant lie. It may be convenient to wallow about when I'm miserable anyway, but it is simply a gigantic non-truth. I have goals. I can list a few perhaps: I want, at some point, to be married. I want kids. I want a job of a level where I can respect my co-workers as being intellegent and nice to be around. I want a place I can go when I need to be alone, but I want many places I can go when I need to be with a friend. I want to stand out, but I don't want to stand out any more than anyone else. None of these are very specific. There is nothing here that I can use to say ``Ah ha! So to accomplish this goal I need to do exactly (a), (b), (c).'' But among these are things that make me happy. When I get closer to achieving one, my demeanor becomes slightly more smile-y. When I am farther away, I become more withdrawn.

Having wants and desires is good. Being able to write them down in a list is better. Best of all though, what a person wants out of life is a big part of who they are. Of course, it's not a _public_ part of who you are. For people to know your dreams, they must be close to you. For the rest then, who you are is built more on how you act in public. I unicycle. I take a tool of pride and vanity, a machine of great difficulty, a toy of unparalleled shock value, and I place it between myself and those who may look upon me. It is a wall and a window. I smile at those who say ``Dude that is so cool!'' I answer those who ask ``Is that as easy as you make it look?'' I ignore those who remark to their friends, a little loudly for taste, ``I hate this place because people do things like _that_.'' A unicycle is a great way to remove myself from social situations; I don't have to fall into conversation with an acquaintance just because we happen to be walking the same direction. I'm not obliged to figure out exactly the right way to look at oncoming pedestrian traffic. That's a hard task. You can't just ignore them; there might be a friend among the crowd who warrents a hello. You can't actively search for people you know either, or greet everybody. That's just weird. A solution might be to walk with a friend, deep in conversation. That also removes you from the difficulty of pedestrian traffic. But, I unicycle. I'll wave to you, typically with my first two fingers extended (no particular reason), and then I'll unicycle off.

The unicycle brings to light some interesting things about me. I'm proud, but not vain. Honestly. I'm proud of my ability to do something that most others cannot. I'm proud of this ability that took so many years to learn, and even so many months to really get started, and that I will never stop learning so long as I keep going. I even like it when people are impressed. And, yes, I dislike it when people don't care, or think of me as a showoff. But I don't think I'm owed anything for the time I put into unicycling. I don't want attention as payment for time invested. I'll unicycle because it gets me out of the foot traffic, and it's fun, and when someone does feel the desire to give me attention for it it makes me just a little bit happier than I was the moment before. I'm proud, but not vain. Really? Regarding the unicycle I am anyway. How about my intellect? I'm not proud of it. Perhaps I'm vain. I didn't do anything to deserve my ability to pick up new concepts quickly. I didn't have to practice to have a memory that works even better when I'm being tested than when I'm not. Do I like it when someone says `You're smarter than me'? no! I hate it. I want to be smart. I like being smart. I just don't want to be smarter than somebody else. I want to excel at those things that I've earned the right to excel at -- those things that I've put time and effort and stress into mastering. But do I think I deserve to pass my classes with flying colors, even though I don't put as much effort into them as some others? Damn right I do. It might not make me happy to get an A, not like it used to in high school, but I do tend to feel it as my due. I'm vain. I'm vain when it comes to schooling, and coursework, and things that I'm good at without effort. But, I'm not proud of those things, and I'm not proud of being vain about them.

I'm quiet. I'm also loud. If I don't know anybody present, I'll probably keep my mouth shut. If there's a crowd, and I don't know most of the people, I'll get out of there if I can. I hate crowds. People I don't know make me uncomfortable. People I do know don't make me much more comfortable, but there is a tendancy: when in a group of people, the amount of time that my mouth is open is proportional to how many of them I know and how well I know them. My comments tend to be smart-alec, and bad puns. I like to play devil's advocate. I especially like to say things that are clearly not true, but only if it's sufficiently clear that I'm clearly bullshitting. I speak in a manner that might make people think I just like to hear my own voice, but that cannot be the case, given the limited situations that I speak in that manner. But when it comes to talking, there's one thing I'm good at. It doesn't happen often. If I happen to be talking to someone about a topic I understand well, my words become more forceful. If I'm talking on a topic that's clearly got two sides, and I think one of them is wrong, my words become passionate. If I'm talking to someone who is not informed but thinks I can teach them, my words become insistant. If, instead, that person is well informed but thinks that my opinion might be interesting, my words become proud. I love to talk about physics with a chemist. I like to try explain what an atom is to someone who doesn't quite get it. I enjoy debating global warming with a friend, even if we both argue on the same side. I wish I had that kind of conversation more often. Only very few of my friends do I feel welcome to talk to in that way at any time; I wish there were more.

It Begins

There was a gigantic intake of breath. I couldn't hear it so much as feel it; as if the hurricane spawned from hell found it's full form and power outside my window in a second, only to vanish an instant later. The awareness shook me. Awareness of millions of students in this timezone, waking up together, and breathing a collective sigh as they start the first day of classes. I opened my eyes. I blinked twice. Gathering myself, I rolled out of bed and looked at my alarm. 7:29:52. Had I been eight seconds later the infernal thing would have beeped at me. One leap took me to the clock to disable it, and I left for the shower.

Fall, 2007. Let it begin.

So yeah...

"Fool for lesser things." It's true, I am one. The fool, that is, not the lesser thing. I'm a fool for baking cookies. That started because I like eating cookies. I'm more a fool for lemon meringue pie. A good night's sleep or a good book have me at their mercy. There are lots of little things for me to be a fool for, and maybe some things aren't quite so little. Finishing my sophomore year at college was a bit more than little thing. Keeping my scholarship was certainly a fair sized thing! A good conversation could be a little thing or a big thing, but I like it either way.

So, once again, I find myself spending the summer at Case Western Reserve (Our name changed once again; first it was Case Western Reserve University, then just Case, and now back up to Case Western Reserve... I hope the name changing trend doesn't keep up!). I'm working in the same cosmology lab as last summer. Though now I've got a greater workload and greater responsibility; we down two post-docs and two grad students, plus I've got greater experience and knowledge now to draw from.

My housing situation is better than last summer. I'm in a suite with four others: Saagar, a friend from college, and three guys I didn't know previously but are friendly and good-natured. We've even gotten some four-player card games going already.

Saying that I spend a fair amount of time on the computer talking to Andrea and Laurel is nothing new, and now Meghan's making a surprise appearance from my past and giving me something else to think about.

But anyway, since this is my first post in quite a long time, I think I'll keep it short.

Harry Potter on July 21; I've got my preorder in, have you got yours?

Time Machines and Distortions of Reality

So I had another odd dream last night. For that matter, I think I had several seperate odd dreams, but on waking I only remembered the one. It's weird: after staying awake (without caffeine) almost 24 hours to fix my sleep schedule, you'd think I could get a good night's sleep. But I woke up several times during the night to find my sheets kicked around and not entirely covering me, and my mom reports hearing me bumping around, which I don't recall doing. Factor in the content of this dream (and the ones I don't remember), and I don't think my brain got much rest at all.

So to start off, I was going back in time with some adult woman. This very well could have come from the end of a different dream, or is the middle one longer more convoluted dream, but I don't remember well why we were going back in time. Nor do I remember what we did there (then?). Perhaps she was some sort of history-fixer, and I an apprentice. Anyway. The destination was sometime before civilization, the job was over quickly, and we were on our way back to the present. Here's where things start to get fishy.

We get back to the present, and the door to the time machine opens. Instantly everything is wrong. My mind feels like it shatters into a million pieces. I black out, but not before noticing that the woman who was there is suddenly a different woman. When I wake up, I'm being called by a name that isn't mine. I recognize some faces, but they have the wrong names. Some people are more familiar and some are less. As is common in dreams, people I know were here and there, and somehow even in the broken reality groups of friends stayed together, with only slight variations. I spent a day in utter confusion as I tried to figure out what was wrong with me, or the world -- but my best idea was that my changes to the past had modified the future, but left me as I was.

It gets worse. The next day I woke again to a new reality, different from the last. This process repeats itself indefinately. I busy these days in different realities trying to find someone familiar enough to who I remember for me to truly communicate with, but to little avail. The people I meet have different memories of me than I have of them, including what my name is. Some days people aren't even speaking English, or any language that I recognize. Some days there is nobody and nothing. Not even I am there. Yet, I have a perception, lacking senses, lying in a barren landscape.

Eventually, on a day where people are speaking English, I find myself talking to a scientist who studies the effects of time machines and time travel. He tells me my experience is unrelated to time travel, that it can't be. He procedes to explain the theoretical effects of making changes to the past: When the door to a time machine opens, the time traveler is exposed to reality, which has altered in infinately many different ways. All of the alterations of reality exist, and are entirely seperate from the others. The phenominon is similar to what some term "multiple universes". The essence of the time traveler, or his perception, splits and fills each of his new infinitely many selves. Each of these selves has a history, and memories entirely seperate from time travel, though some may be time travelers themselves. They do not remember anything of the original time traveler's history -- some 'excuse' is in their mind for why they were in the time machine that day. "Unless," he says, "you had some sort of psycic bond... a root in your past world and life..." He droned off, then went to a blackboard and proceded to fill it with math (which was pure jiberish). "Do you have an identical twin, perhaps?" And he retracts his previous statements, allowing that if one had a constant influx of psycic signal, however slight, it could remind the time traveler's perception of it's history. To forget the past, then, the forgetting would have to happen faster than the reminding. Now, if just one new perception remembered the past, it could be awkward. The time traveler would remember the wrong past, know the wrong things, and possibly speak the wrong language. But if all of the new perceptions were identical to the original, and a person's perception is his sense of self, then it would seem like one 'person' living the lives of infinately many. One person in infinately many bodies. He couldn't conceive of how a mind could manage so much sensory input -- until I came along. I was proof of the possibity, and it could be done by those lives taking turns, one day each.

So how was the problem to be solved? "Kill all your other selves, and the one remaining will live a normal life, though in a world where you have no memories." The consequences of that seem frightening, but he and his team developed the instrumentation that would somehow attatch to me and destroy the other copies of myself in other realities. (Looking back on it, this must have all been acomplished in one day, or I'd be gone.) I was strapped in. I heard: "You idiot! You'll destroy him entirely!" and I woke up.

So, finals

Finals have come and gone, but news of them is only now getting blogged about (from me at least).

First of all, I had 3 finals: MATH 224 was first, on Tues 12 at 4 pm. Then came JAPN 101 on Thurs 14 at 9:30 am. Last was PHYS 203 on Tues 19 at 4 pm.

So anyway, that math class was calculus 4, differential equations. Can I say easy? Well, I know I can -- what I mean is, will you forgive me for saying so? Before the first test, I did about half the homework assignments, and I studied for about two hours (the day of the test). I got a 93% on it. Well and well, I know what that means -- I don't have to work as hard. For the next test, I did a grand total of one homework assignment, and I studied for only about one hour the day of the test. At that, I spent a good deal of that one hour simply fretting that I wasn't ready. I finished the one hour test in twenty minutes, turning it in amid snorts of disbelief from my classmates (and I only brag on my blog). I got a 91% on it. Yup, more slacking off for me. I had always gone to class before that point -- every day. And, I continued to go to class every day. But now I'd show up anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes late to the 50 minute class. I did no homework assignments. I fell asleep in the back of the classroom twice. When it came time to study, I spent one hour the night before learning all the material and one hour before the test reviewing it. I was first done again, but not quite so spectacularly, and I got a 92%. Fairly consistant, I thought.

Now, there were also assignments in this class that were graded. "Labs" they were called. These could be done with partners, and there was plenty of time to do them. My partner and I did them the night before they were due and did quite poorly, unfortunately. So, at the end of the semester, there was only the final and one lab left; and I calculated that I could miss only 16 of the remaining 240 points to get a 90% in the class, which was a guaranteed "A". I figured I'd need all of those points on the final, and stressed endlessly about the lab. We did it the night before it was due. And, surprisingly, only missed three points on it -- allowing me to miss 13 points on the 200 point final.

I finished the 3 hour final in an hour. I spent two more hours redoing every problem using different techiniques, and taking the answer and doing the reverse calculations to find the original problem. Everything was perfect. I haven't seen my grade on the final itself, but I did get the "A" in math :-).

Ahhhh, Japanese. See, at the beginning of the semester I stayed on top of things. I learned all the vocabulary, and the grammar was simple. I would get even better than 100% on the quizes. Then, things went wrong. Work piled up, stress increased, and... some things went wrong. I stopped learning. I did my homework in the time between my classes the day it was due. If it required the language learning center website (which didn't work on the computer in the physics lounge), I didn't do it, and I didn't turn it in. On the midterm, which was both written and oral, I got 80/100 written and 40/50 oral: an 80%. I felt that was good, considering I hadn't prepared much (or well).

As the semester progressed, I didn't improve my work at all. If anything, I got worse. Earlier, though I was behind, I still managed to learn all of the kanji (Chinese characters) that were assigned, but that stopped and I fell behind on those too. My grades on homework and quizes started to reflect more clearly my grade on the midterm. And then came the final along with it's oral part, and I was two chapters behind on vocabulary. I never did learn a good portion of those words. Worse still, the oral presentation was the same day as a presentation I had to give for my seminar class on farming -- and I hadn't prepared either. The night before those presentations I stayed up all night, thanks to liberal use of caffeine. Well, "all night" is a relative term: I took a nap from 5:30 am to 6:30 am, at which point I went to the library to continue working. I've never had so much caffeine in my life. After one double expresso shot, I was alert as never before -- yes, I was high on caffeine. And, in response to the drug, I called my dad to let him know I was high. I was sure he'd want to know. He wished me luck on my presentations.

My seminar presentation went flawlessly. It was a group activity, and it was in English so I could B.S., as is my wont, fluently. We scored 10/10 100%. Then it was time for my Japanese oral. I helped myself to more coffee. Here's the rundown: it wasn't terrible. I managed my lines, even if my arms were shaking. But, when it came time to answer questions, I blew it. I was asked "Did your father swim in the ocean, too?" I understood it, perfectly, and was proud of myself. I instantly thought "until he lost his glasses in the waves". Unfortunately, I don't know a single one of those words in japanese -- not even "he", if they have such a word. I was tongue-tied for the rest of the exam, and I know it affected my grade. Anyway, I got a 42/50 on that oral; I suppose it paid off to partner up with two of the best in the class ;-).

The written final was as bad. I progressed fluently through the test at a reasonable rate, getting to the end at about the three hour mark. The down side: I left blanks where I couldn't think of the Japanese word, or I didn't know what a word meant. Again I don't know how I did on the test, but I got a "B" in the class.

Now, if there is anything to say about my circuits class (PHYS 203), it's this: "fun, fun, fun". I honestly enjoyed that class thoroughly. Constructing circuits that use digital logic to solve problems was like solving a puzzle. The whole class was like a game. The night before the final I printed out one of the review tests. I skipped right to the end; there were two practice "make a circuit" problems. I read one of them. The concept was to design a circuit that could take an oscillating voltage of unknown amplitude, DC offset, waveform, and frequency and determine and display both its frequency and period using both analog techniques and digital logic. As my classmates, who were studying with me, went through the practice test, I lay on my back on the floor and considered it. The next day, before the test, several of us were again studying, this time in the physics lounge. I solved that problem. It made me happy. Then, I colored in a coloring book that Megan had brought along, using crayons that were conveniently stored in the lounge.

The test wasn't bad at all. I went through the problems, maybe a bit too fast. I probably made some stupid mistakes and never went back to fix them. I was distracted: there was an extra credit problem. "You have two phototransistors and two LED's (light-emitting-diodes), a ruler, and a protractor. You also have any equipment you would find in the lab. You can earn one extra credit point for each unique method for measuring distance that you come up with. Simply using the ruler is not acceptable. Methods cannot use the same principal." (That's not a direct quote, just from memory.) This came from a joke we had been told days previous in class, about a physics student who was asked on a test how to measure the height of a building using a barometer. The student responded to measure the lenght of the barometer, then use a ladder to scale the building and mark off barometer lenghts up its height. Then, simply count them up and multiply by the barometer's length. The student recieved an "F", but appealed to the dean. He was then put before a panel to determine whether he would pass. They told him, "Your answer is technically correct, but unfortunately does not show an understanding of the subject. To determine whether you deserve to pass, we will give you this oportunity to display to us what you have learned this semester. You have ten minutes, go." The student sat and thought. After several minutes had passed, they reminded him he was on the clock, so he stood up and started: "There are other solutions available of course: for example, one could drop the barometer from the top of the building and time how long it takes to hit the ground. The height of the building can then be determined by Newton's laws. Pity about the barometer, though. Or, on a bright day, one could stand the barometer up and measure it's height and the length of it's shadow, and the lenght of the building's shadow. Simple trigonometery would yield the height of the building. A more world-wise person might just go up to a custodian who worked there and say 'I'll give you this nice barometer if you tell me the height of the building.' And, of course, if one was boring and not creative, the height of the building could be determined by measuring the air pressure at the top of the building and at the bottom, determining each's height above sea level, and subtracting -- but that would require an unusually accurate barometer."

Anyway, I enjoyed the joke and the extra credit problem. I came up with 8 different meathods, one of which was serious. Two may have been too similar to give credit, but that's water under the bridge: I got an "A" in the class :-D.

Lastly was SAGES, my seminar class, which had no final. I got a "B" in it. That's all there is to say about that.

I apologize about the lenght of this blog entry, but perhaps it'll make up for me not posting recently.

Nightmare

Damn it's been a long time since I've had one of those. I can't even remember the last time it's happened. And here I am, still shaking, having woken up from it twenty minutes ago. My primary concern is about some highly embarrassing noises that my dream self made, I don't know if I actually made them but in the dream I was aware enough to silence myself there.

It began as something of a convoluted cycle. Some kind of video game with huge armies, then a chase with nothing actually chasing but strange and familiar things jumping out at me. The chase went through a series of scenaries that could only exist in a dream: I remember a wide corridor, so wide in fact that I didn't notice any walls. There were strange potted plants on the ground near pillars. There was a waterfall from something into the ocean with huge sea monsters playing; an old man (sometimes I was the old man, sometimes I only watched him) just watching the terrible beasts.

And then it started over, as nearly as I can tell. But each time through (maybe twice or three times) it got worse. The initial video game was no game the last time through; there were huge armies that I watched pass me in that corridor. The old man had doubled, and one half was tormenting the other by somehow controlling the beasts. People in disguises hid themselves behind the plants (which stood only two feet or so off the floor).

And then I was with friends in the dorm and it was over, as if gone; a dream. We were talking lightly, nothing meant anything. And then, the worst thing that could happen happened. Actually, perhaps not the worst thing. I'm in no position to judge what could happen or what is worst -- and neither are you because I'm not going to say what happened. But in response to it, I made funny noises. A few of them actually. One I can remember well enough now to emulate, but I probably won't in a few hours.

I woke up. My heart was racing. Seriously. I was sweating, I was shaking. (My heart rate is still up, I'm still shaking.) I took some deep breathes. Tried to convince myself that it was over. Soon I was wide awake, and there wasn't much I could do about it. It wasn't nearly enough sleep for one night, but I'm potentially not going to fall back to sleep. I opened my brothers door, to make sure he was alright, then came back, sat down, and decided to write this all down, and get it off my chest.

First Day of Class

I had 13 credits scheduled when I woke up yesterday morning. By three in the afternoon I had 17; having obtained a permit to overload in JAPN 101, Elementary Japanese.

But more important than my schedule (which sucks, I have no two classes in a row -- Mondays I'm on campus 9am-9pm with breaks between each class) are the cool goings-on. For example, at work I was told one person would need to be on top of the shelving while the other was on the ladder, so we could take stuff down. Ignoring the ladder, I instead scaled one of the legs of the shelving. Once up, I had about 6 inches of clearance to sit, and then the 25' drop (or so).

Later (or maybe it was earlier), a friend informed me that all of the freshmen had been alerted to the presence of unicycling twins on campus. I'm thinking we might need to put on a show.

Certainly later than both, I was walking to band (Symphonic Winds) and carrying my (the school's) baritone. Passing a little girl and a woman, I overheard some whispered conversation: something about a 'French Horn', and something about 'Ask him! Ask him!' That was enough for me to gather what was going on, but I kept walking for the moment. Then the woman said "Excuse me, sir," and I know I smilied at that as I turned around, "is that a french horn?" "It's actually a baritone, wanna see?" and so I played a tune. Of course, it sounded terrible because I wasn't warmed up and it was raining slightly, but amazing nonetheless.